Robin Takes the Lead
by libraryv
Summary: Robin is put in charge of leading her first case, while she and Strike might have to admit that their partnership is becoming more than just detective work.
1. Chapter 1

Strike shut the office door behind the sniffling woman and took a deep breath. Looking up, he saw Robin looking at him expectantly.

"I know," he began, "that for all appearances, that woman wouldn't be good for the business." He began ticking reasons off on his fingers.

"Her brother's death has already been declared an open-and-shut accident by the police. She has a spotty mental health history. Her family doesn't want her to involve herself with a private investigation, and the fact she even came today against their wishes implies they might make our job harder in the future. And…"

He looked back at Robin again.

"..and she's unable to pay us anything near what we would normally ask."

"Well," said Robin briskly, as she began to gather papers together on the desk, "I'll rearrange the schedule for tomorrow so that we can meet her again at that restaurant she mentioned. Might as well start in right away."

Strike grinned. He and Robin had always operated well together, but in the months since her divorce from Matthew, he'd been able to really appreciate it.

He shook out his watch and glanced at it.

"That's seven. Fancy a celebratory drink at the Tottenham?"

Robin stopped tidying up the desk and smiled.

"What are we celebrating?"

Strike pulled her cardigan off the rack and held it out for her as she shrugged her arms into it.

"You taking the lead on your first case. This one's going to be yours."

"Really?" Robin stopped pushing her arm through and turned her head to face him, forgetting the proximity in her eagerness. Suddenly, she found herself inches away from his clear blue gaze. Taking a split second too long before stepping back to a less intimate distance, Strike cleared his throat before answering.

"Absolutely. You deserve it. I've been waiting for a case that wasn't chasing around a cheating spouse, and I think this is it." He addressed her as seriously as he could, trying to ignore the scent of her perfume flooding his senses, and the fact that he could still feel the slight tickle of her hair against his neck when she had turned her head.

Robin, who had been waiting for this career moment for many months, couldn't stop herself from giving a squeal of delight.

"Yes, I bloody well do deserve it, don't I!" Strike let out a gentle huff of laughter. They were still facing each other, and Robin wasn't sure if she should close the distance between them and give Strike a friendly hug. At the same time that she stepped forward, Strike stepped away towards the door, and she dropped her arms at her sides, awkwardly. The moment that she had no doubt imagined, had passed.


	2. Chapter 2: It's Just a Cover

The cool October air that greeted Strike and Robin as they stepped out onto the London street was a welcome relief. The fall was unseasonably warm, and the office had been particularly stifling that day, with only an ancient fan rotating sadly and ineffectively on Robin's desk.

To Robin, the night breeze was not only welcome, it seemed filled with promise. Her first lead! Her mind was racing as she marched along, head held high. Strike glanced over at her, filled with a lightness of his own. To see her this happy made the long hot day filled with long surveillance and an aching limb worth it.

They were walking along beside a high brick wall that enclosed the park, almost at the pub, when Strike stopped suddenly, grabbing Robin by the arm and bringing her to a halt.

"Shit. Is that Beaker?"

Robin looked ahead to the figure in the distance heading towards them, wearing what was unmistakeably a lab coat. She groaned with recognition.

"Yep. He can't see me here, it'll blow my cover –"

"I know." Strike replied tersely, looking for a doorway to escape into. There was nothing, and the handful of passerby wouldn't hide them. There was nothing for it. Pulling Robin towards the wall, he pushed her back against it firmly, keeping her body there with his own, placing both his hands on the wall on either side of her head. He leaned into her, dropping his nose to her neck, effectively hiding her and making it look like they were two lovers embracing. Would the pretense work?

Robin stood, pressed between Strike and the brick wall, heart racing so hard she was sure he must feel it. She was aware of his breath on her neck, warm in the cool air, sending shivers down her spine. His hair was tickling her ear. She tried to keep focused, tried to remember that this was just a way to keep her cover, but all she could take in was the fact that Strike's body was gently pressed against hers. He was keeping his full weight from pressing onto her, and she could feel his muscles trembling slightly with the strain. Suddenly, he whispered into her ear.

"He's almost to us. Nearly there."

Strike knew it was Robin's quick wits that had her acting as her right hand reached up and gently tangled in his hair. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment, breathing her in. As she tugged her fingers through his hair, he stared at the soft skin of her neck, less than an inch away from his mouth. The thought of that alabaster skin underneath his lips…

Abruptly, footsteps marched past them, and Strike marshaled his thoughts back to the moment. It seemed they both stopped breathing as the footsteps faded away, then Strike lifted his head and looked over.

"He's gone." He lifted his head entirely and looked at Robin.

"Sorry about that. Couldn't think what else to do, and we couldn't risk him seeing your face."

Robin's cheeks were flushed. She smiled awkwardly.

"Don't be silly. It was quick thinking; I was just standing there." She was aware that Strike was still hemming her in. Strike seemed to become aware of it at the same time; he pushed himself off the wall and away from her. The loss of his warmth and the nearness of him caused her to shiver and wrap her arms around herself.

"That cardigan is hardly a jacket," said Strike amiably, shrugging out of his own coat and placing it across her shoulders.

Robin laughed a little too loudly as they turned and continued their walk towards the pub. She was still trying to recover her breath. Their fake embrace had felt all too real.


	3. Chapter 3: Musings at the Pub

The pub was packed; there was a match on and the crowd at the bar was rowdy. Strike could make out three tables full of what looked like a rather drunken hen night in the far corner.

"I'll get drinks, you grab that table!" Strike shouted above the noise. He pointed at a group of friends getting up to leave from a table just in front of them.

Robin nodded once and headed forward to save the seats. By the time she had swept some crumbs off the table and sat down, Cormoran was back with a pint of beer in one hand a glass of wine in the other.

"Cheers," began Strike as he crashed his weight into the chair across the table, "to you leading your first case." He held out his pint and looked at her, smiling.

A thrill went through Robin as she touched her wine glass to his drink. The awkwardness over their embrace by the park wall forgotten, her mind had already turned to the woman in their office earlier.

"I think that Amelia's family has already written her off as unreliable. I know that her history in and out of facilities isn't exactly encouraging, but she had such clear belief that her brother's death wasn't an accident. I just feel…I just feel she was telling the truth."

"I know you're not a fan of so-called hunches," said Robin, when Strike opened his mouth to reply. "But what does she have to gain by paying us to investigate? Nothing, that's what. So her belief that it's murder – I think that's real." She looked down at the table in thought.

"The question is," said Robin suddenly, pre-empting Strike again, "is whether or not we think it's a murder."

"I was going to say," said Strike, raising a playful eyebrow at her, "that I also thought she was telling the truth."

"Oh," Robin smiled and took a sip of her wine, thinking. "When I meet with Amelia tomorrow, I'd like to ask more about her brother's workplace. I know she said that she thinks his boss is behind it, but I had a feeling, the way she talked about how much Aidan loved his job, that there is bound to be lot of information there. If he really did spend most of his time in that office, there's definitely some co-workers who will know more."

Strike nodded. He had been thinking the same thing, but was absolutely going to let Robin dictate how they would approach this. He had been watching her as she had been thinking out loud. In the past few months, Robin had become more relaxed. She seemed happier. The dark circles under her eyes that had threatened to become permanent after her marriage to Matthew had finally disappeared. Strike allowed himself an appraising glance at her under the guise of raising his pint glass for a gulp. She had been getting shockingly thin, but the collarbones now graced a pleasingly fuller neckline.

There had been a time, after they solved the Chiswell case, where he had strongly considered making a move. His feelings, always kept carefully repressed, were threatening to take over. Certainly, the line between them had become so blurred that it seemed inevitable. But Strike was afraid to damage the best relationship, working or otherwise, of his life. The window passed, and both of them had continued on as they had before, settling into a careful camaraderie.

Strike pulled himself back out of his reverie. Lately, the comfortable nature between them had seemed charged. Tonight, with Robin beneath him against that wall, he had almost given into a mad desire to kiss her, to press his body into hers and show her exactly how much their "cover" had affected him.

"We should speak to the fiancée, too, of course," Robin was saying. He focused his attention back to her.

"Yeah," he agreed. "She'll definitely have some information."

"Alright." Robin pulled out her notepad with a business-like manner. "I'll take Aidan's workplace, and you take his fiancée. I have a feeling she'll be more forthcoming with you. I'll call her and see if I can arrange a time for you to meet tomorrow afternoon. Then, let's meet up at the office at five and compare notes. I'll let Barclay know about Beaker and tell him what to expect."

"Sounds good." Strike took a breath, weighing his words for a second. He didn't want to sound patronizing. "I'm enjoying this – you directing me."

Robin grinned, buoyed by a sudden confidence. "Yes. Well. Glad to hear that, as you'll have to get used to it. Me bossing you about everywhere and you liking it."

She immediately flushed. That had sounded far more suggestive than she had intended. "I'm going to get another glass. Want another-?"

She turned and headed for the bar, Strike watching her go. Christ, it was warm in this pub all of a sudden. Bloody October and he was far too hot. He shifted in his seat. He was glad of the distraction of a real case. Amelia's story had been intriguing, and he was looking forward to working closely with Robin.


	4. Chapter 4: Rebecca

Strike sat across from Aidan's fiancée with a patient, neutral expression. Something about his imposing height and size, at odds with his respectful restraint, drew women to him. Rebecca was no exception as she wiped more tears away.

"God, sorry," she half-laughed, half-sobbed. "I keep thinking I've reached the point where I think there can't possibly be any tears left in me to cry anymore. And then I start talking about Aidan and…" she blew into her tissue and added it to the pile in the wastebasket at her feet.

Strike didn't say anything, but watched her kindly. Rebecca had been open and willing to answer any questions. She had a friendly manner, and had welcomed him into the flat. It was hard not to let his pity override the interview: this likeable young woman in her early thirties had had her life come crashing to a horrible halt.

"Anyways." She gave her head a small shake. "To answer your question, yes, Aidan really did love his job to spend all that time there. I always thought that was a cliché – to love what you do. But he did. He really did."

"And you never thought there was more to it than that?" Strike asked gently.

"You mean, an office affair?" said Rebecca with a small smile at him, surprising him with her astuteness. "It had crossed my mind, at the beginning. What man spends that much time late at the office? But then I got to know his co-workers, and they're all friends. They're all so passionate about marketing."

"Which co-workers would these friends be?" asked Strike.

"Oh, they all got along at that place. To the point where it was annoying." She smiled fondly and reached for another tissue. "But Aidan spent most of his time with Blake. And Steve. Oh, and the new guy. Matt." Strike fought an inner surge of instinctive dislike at the last name. He made a note to check out the names he had just been given.

"How close was Aidan to his sister?"

"Oh, Amelia…" Rebecca sighed. "She's…she's had a lot to deal with, Amelia. So different from Aidan. She always seemed to be in the middle of some extreme problem with her job, her boyfriends…you know their parents were always very worried about her."

Strike remained silent.

"Amelia was constantly calling Aidan, needing help with some crisis. It felt like I was always watching him leave in the middle of the night to go rescue her. He loved her, he couldn't stand to see her in pain. He had eternal patience with her."

"Don't get me wrong," Rebecca put out her hand as if to stop an imaginary protest. "I like her. I love her. I think of her as my sister, too. She had a very up-and-down life, but…she loved Aidan more than anything."

Rebecca toyed with the frayed ends of the tissue in her hands, then looked directly at Strike. "And I think she's right about Aidan's death. I don't think it was an accident either."


	5. Chapter 5: Comparing Notes

Strike looked up as Robin came through their office door and threw herself with a sigh into the chair opposite.

"Long day?" he asked her, watching her kick off her heeled shoes.

"Yeah. Learned some interesting things, though," Robin said, smiling at him. "You?"

"Definitely. Aidan's fiancée sure had a lot to say. She really gave the impression that he loved being at his office – what was it like?"

Robin sighed again. "It's very standard, swanky marketing. I met Aidan's friend and co-worker Blake, who's a real piece of work and a definite womanizer. Then I talked to Aidan's secretary, who was silly and breathless and couldn't stop giggling, and finally, I met his boss, who barely took the time to look up from his desk and shouted at me to leave."

Strike frowned. This wasn't the workplace impression that Rebecca had given him earlier.

Robin stretched her arms above her head as she looked at him. "I know what you're thinking – our two accounts of his life don't add up, do they? God, I need a drink. His boss was horrible. He was shouting at me to leave them all alone and threatened to get security to lead me out of there."

Strike's protective instincts rose. "Christ. Did he actually do it?"

"No, I left pretty quickly after he started in. Didn't need a scene."

"Oh," said Strike, calmed but also a little disappointed. They'd have to get back to the office somehow, and the boss sounded like he was going to be a problem.

"But guess which lead detective is at the top of her game?" Robin leaned forward and grinned at Strike.

"Who?" Strike grinned back, knowing the answer. Robin usually saved left the best for last.

"Robin Ellacott, of course," said Robin triumphantly, tossing Strike a set of small keys.

Strike caught them and turned them over, then looked at her. "These aren't what I think they are?"

Robin leapt up from the chair. "Yes, they are! Aidan's office door keys. I told you the secretary was silly, but I didn't tell you that I had a rather long time with her before the boss let me in. She recently broke up with her fiancé, you know. Cheated on."

Strike looked at her carefully for how this similarity to her own life affected her, but she kept on talking; it hadn't phased her.

"So of course that was my in – I told her about my own story and all of a sudden she came over and gave me a hug and said she always liked Aidan. She thinks it's a horrible thing that he's not working there anymore and if we can help his family after his death, why of course we should have access and see if there's anything the police missed."

Strike stood up, too, and walked towards her, holding up the keys. "Robin, this is bloody good work. You always know how to talk to people."

Robin put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. "Well," she said, "do you fancy giving those keys a try?"

"Right now?" Strike raised his eyebrows. "I don't think-"

"Well, it wouldn't have been right to use the keys without the alarm code to the front door, would it?" Robin pulled a piece of paper from her pocket with a triumphant flourish.

Strike barked a laugh. "Ellacott, you never cease to surprise me. How in the hell did you get that?"

"Well, Aidan was very well-liked, but the boss isn't. Something's going on between him and his staff, that's clear…and the two women that I chatted to in the lift on my way out had seen Mr. Linead yelling at me. We talked all the way down and I was careful to note the code as they left with me. They weren't very careful with the keypad, but I also think it was almost on purpose. I don't know if it's good for opening as well as locking, but there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

She stepped back into her shoes, waiting for his reaction.

Strike made a show of shrugging his shoulders. "Only one way," he repeated, smiling.


	6. Chapter 6: Breaking In

"It's worked!" Robin hissed under her breath. The message on the door keypad flashed.

_Press 0 to disarm._

Strike shook out his cigarette from his lookout a few feet away and hastily joined her at the door. Robin pressed 0 and heard the electronic lock on the door disengage. She gave a tentative tug and slid inside, Strike giving a last glance behind him at the street before following quickly. The stillness muffled the sounds of the London street outside.

They stopped and faced each other, smiling. They were in.

Strike gave her a nod and they padded quietly to the lift, instinctively being quiet. Robin had made innocent inquiries into office hours, and she was certain the cleaners would have left by now. They should be alone, but caution still overrode her actions.

They got into the lift. Robin pressed "5" for the top floor, her finger shaking. Adrenaline and the reality of being inside the office was starting to hit her system.

"Mr. Linead?" Strike guessed in a whisper, watching Robin press the button. She nodded at him, and the lift started to climb.

Robin gave herself a mental shake and tried to get a grip. She had never before broken into an office after hours, key or not, and the reality of the task they were facing had her pulse racing. What were they looking for, exactly? What would they find?

She glanced at Strike, who was staring comfortably ahead, seemingly unbothered. How could he always remain so cool? Had he done anything like this before?

The lift pinged and the doors slide open. Strike raised his eyebrows and braced his arm against the door, indicating he would go first. She watched him look to both sides. He glanced back and gave her another nod, then turned aside to let her through, holding his arm against the door for her.

Robin practically tiptoed down the long hallway past the glossy long secretary's desk and reached into her pocket for the keys. When she reached the door she tried one, trying to steady her hand. Strike was right beside her. The first key didn't work; it must open something else. She tried the second; no luck. Had it all been for nothing? Was it the secretary's idea of a joke? The third key turned in the lock. Robin looked up at Strike. His blue eyes looked into hers, unreadable. This was her case, and this was her call. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Walking into the office, Robin had a moment's unpleasant flashback to earlier in the afternoon, where Linead had shouted at her to leave. Why had he been so desperate to have her go? Was it a simple invasion of privacy, or was the man hiding something? Strike headed over to a filing cabinet, and Robin walked to the desk. Unlike the mess it had been earlier, there was nothing on its sleek surface save a computer, a silver picture frame, and an expensive arrangement of orchids.

Strike turned and whispered over his shoulder. "Bloody locked, but that's to be expected. Want to try those other keys?"

Robin walked over to him with the keys out. Strike took them from her hand, he noticed they were cold and clammy. He knew this was a big thing for her to be doing; this was crossing a particularly different line for her. He smiled internally at her straightened spine as he took the keys from her fingers. He was just putting the first key to the locked drawer at the top when both of them heard an unmistakeable ping of the elevator down the hall outside.

Robin shared a quick, panicked glance with Strike, who immediately hissed a curse and pocketed the keys. They moved towards each other.


	7. Chapter 7: The Elevator

"Shit," Robin whispered. She barely kept from wringing her hands. The desk was no place to hide – it was open underneath. She paced away from Strike, towards the door and risked a glance down the hall. Shadowed figures could be seen standing and mumbling at the lift. She turned to Strike.

"Shit!"

Strike didn't need to ask what she meant. He moved quickly. He grabbed her hand and led her towards the back of the office.

"From the elevator?" he hissed.

"Yes!" she couldn't keep the panic from her reply.

"Alright." Strike dug back into his pockets with one hand, pointing to the wooden wall behind them with the other. They could both hear footsteps heading this way. "There's another door, here." She hadn't noticed the subtle paneling before. He took the keys from his pocket and tried one in the door. It worked. He pushed Robin through and followed, shutting it to, silently.

They both stood there, looking around at the lush private sitting room. Robin spotted another door in the far corner, with a sign leading to the stairs. She grabbed Strike's sleeve and gestured to it, but he had already seen it; they both headed for it. Distantly, Robin heard the door from the hallway to the outer office open.

They headed down the stairwell, Robin's feet flying, listening to Strike make his ungainly way behind her, grunting with pain. She knew what this speed down the stairs was costing his leg.

On the second landing, she spotted a door marked with the lift. She pulled at it desperately; it opened. She flung herself through it and threw herself onto the "down" button, Strike reaching her just as the lift doors opened. They rushed into it, Robin jabbing at the close-door buttons. They slid together, as if in slow-motion, and the lift began its descent.

Not quite home free, but mostly in the clear, Robin drew a shaky breath. She hadn't realized how close she and Strike were standing. She looked over at him just as he looked down at her, breathing heavily, eyebrows raised.

"That was –" Robin began.

Suddenly, the elevator dropped a foot and slammed to a halt. Robin gasped and lost her footing, Strike grabbed onto her and held her steady, just before overbalancing on his bad leg. He fell to the floor with an awkward thud, taking her with him. They landed in a heap, Robin's elbow hitting him in the stomach and his bad leg twisting awkwardly out.

"Fuck!" Strike gasped out.

The lights flickered, and went out.

"Fuck," Strike said again, in the dark, trying to untangle himself from underneath her. "Are you alright?" His hands found her waist – she was sitting at an awkward angle on his lap, and trying unsuccessfully to grab a hold of something to pull herself up off of him.

"I'm fine, I caught you in the stomach – you okay?" She tried again to raise herself up, her arms scrabbling on the floor.

"It's okay, just, stop moving for a second." He adjusted himself with a hiss of pain, managing to sit up, back against the corner. Robin was pulled upright as well, her back against his stomach. They were both breathing hard. Strike's hands on her hips stilled her, firmly telling her without words to stay there and catch her breath.

Robin couldn't see anything. The dark made everything else stand out in stark relief: the warmth of Strike's body, his soft breath on the back of her neck as he fought to breathe evenly, how sturdy he felt beneath her, his solid chest rising and falling rapidly against her back. She tried not to think about the curve of her bottom settled snuggly in his lap, and the hardness she felt there she was rapidly becoming aware of.

"Okay," Strike breathed quietly into her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "There's a handrail above my head to the right. Can you find it."

Robin reached up, her weight on his lap shifting slightly.

Strike didn't quite succeed in biting back a groan in the back of this throat.

Robin dropped her hand. "Cormoran, are you –"

"I'm fine," Strike said. There was an edge to his voice.

Robin reached up again, her fingers sliding in the darkness until the hit the brass roundness of a hand rail. She found she didn't want to leave where she was.

"I've…I've got it," she whispered, half turning her head to whisper over her shoulder.

"Okay," came Strike's reply, inches away from her own mouth.

She grabbed the handrail and shifted off his lap, managing to pull herself first to her knees, then to standing. She was shaking. She felt full of a mad need to climb back down onto his lap. She reached a hand down to his shoulder, feeling her way to his arm, then his hand, which she guided to the rail.

"I'll help you up, just grab here-" she whispered. Strike leaned into her a bit and heaved himself up, grabbing the rail, then, standing, his back to the wall.

Maybe it was the darkness, or the precariousness of the situation, but she was suddenly filled with boldness. Her hands found his shoulders and she stepped towards him until she was right up against him.

"Robin-" Strike managed, before her hands found the stubble of his jaw in the dark. Pulling his face towards her, she kissed him.


End file.
